The Snap, page 27
I had no idea. I had no fucking idea.
“And what about everything else, with Alec?” Nisha asked.
The story was huge when it came out. The idea that two NFL players on the same team were dating broke the brains of a lot of fans who had no idea that even though this pairing wasn’t real, it would hardly have been unprecedented. I mean, come on. The usual people said the usual dumb things, and then a second wave of people said the usual how-dare-theys in response, and then the cycle wore itself out when something else happened. And A.J. skated past, as usual.
“Do you know,” I huffed, “that he made me get him a fake dog?” I explained the saga around Noodles, which left the others shaking their heads.
“I mean…” Nisha trailed off.
“What?”
She waved a hand at the screen. “Whatever—forget it.”
“What?”
“It’s just…not his first time with that.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. “Can you just say it? I don’t think I can deal with anything else cryptic at this point.”
Nisha tucked her hair behind her ears. “Okay, well, you know when he and Roxanna broke up.” We nodded. A.J.’s long-term relationship with an early-aughts pop star who also happened to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in real life had ended publicly and messily a few years before. “Do any of you know why?”
“He cheated on her, right?” said Dayanna.
“That was the rumor,” Nisha said, “and his team didn’t refute it because no one cares if he cheated on her, but a lot of people would care about the real story. So while Roxanna was on that big arena tour, her dog stayed with A.J. During the European leg, she was papped at a beach club with that guy from Real Madrid.”
“Oh, I remember that,” said Annika. “He was rubbing sunscreen on her, right?”
Dayanna snorted. “Something like that.”
“Wait,” Sarah said, “how do you know all this?”
“My cousin is a celebrity assistant, and her friend worked for Roxanna once, and she’d kept in touch with the next assistant. You know how those chains go. Anyway, so…I have to get this out, it’s horrible. I’m warning you guys now.”
I’d just gotten through a murder in my backyard and hadn’t felt this anxious.
Nisha went on, “A.J. saw the photos and got mad, so he told his supplements guy to dump the dog at a shelter—it’s not like he could do it himself, because he’d be recognized. I don’t know the details about this next part, whether it was on purpose or the assistant is an idiot—”
“He is,” I put in.
“Well, regardless, when A.J. cooled down and sent him back there a few days later, the dog was gone. Hopefully it got adopted out, but it was a kill shelter and they just…don’t know. They don’t actually know what happened to it.”
All our hands flew to our faces. This was sick beyond sick. It was unthinkable. I didn’t have any words for it beyond that.
“But why didn’t Roxanna tell people?” asked Dayanna. “Why didn’t she tell everyone?”
“Because he told her on the first night that he’d donated her dog like a fucking sweater, and she didn’t come home. She finished the tour.”
“She’d be eviscerated.” Annika shook her head. “It’s much better for her—especially after those photos—if people think he cheated.”
“But how could you not tell me?” I asked.
“He’s your quarterback!” Nisha practically yelled. “What was I supposed to do? It’s rumors, first of all, and second, what would you have done if I had told you?” She paused. “Also, don’t take this the wrong way, but…I thought maybe you already knew.”
That hurt, but what could I say when ten minutes ago I’d told them about the rape I’d helped cover up?
“God, I am so sick of this!” I slammed my hands on my coffee table. “I am so tired of bad people getting away with whatever they want because they’re too valuable to take down.”
We sat in silence, five women scattered around the country, alone but together. If anyone asked, I would have said these were the most competent people I knew, that if someone needed something done, properly, now, these were the women to call. So…why couldn’t I be the one asking?
“What if…” The plan formed slowly as I clicked through the implications. Personal. Professional.
Legacy.
Red was dead. He was untouchable. But this—this I could do.
“What if we didn’t let him get away with it this time?”
Nisha made a face. “What does that mean?”
“Well, Sarah, you said you don’t report these kinds of stories because we’re friends. What if I gave you the go-ahead?”
“A three-year-old story based on multiple levels of hearsay?” She looked doubtful.
“Okay, but,” I warmed up, “now it’s not hearsay, because you’d have a named source on the fake rescue dog.”
“Who?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Poppy,” Annika said, “I don’t know about that. Didn’t you direct your intern to get the dog in the first place? You’re going to be the one to take the hit.”
“I know. I can handle it.”
“But you shouldn’t have to!” Now Dayanna was the one who was frustrated.
“I don’t think it has to be anything that formal,” said Nisha. “We are living in the golden age of unsubstantiated rumors—all we have to do is each throw a little piece out there and let the Internet do its thing.”
* * *
*
If the world was a fair place, Red Guillory Day would have been dark and wet and freezing. He deserved to have an anemic crowd sheltering in the concourse until the moment of kickoff, his hype video playing to a stadium of empty seats echoing back nothing but silence. But the weather was unseasonably warm, with traitorous December sunshine that drew winter-weary Syracusans outside. Hours before kickoff, the lots were jammed with fans in sweatshirts and sunglasses cracking open their first beers at ten o’clock in the morning. Red was dead, and that was going to have to be good enough.
It had been years since I’d taken a walk among the tailgaters, but I did that day. In my red power suit, I walked past open hatchbacks with full buffets, past sizzling grills and outstretched hands offering me a coney, a Styrofoam bowl of chicken riggies cooked over a hot plate. I remembered selling packets of M&Ms in the parking lot at my father’s games for a dollar apiece, the way my mother would slip four quarters into the cash box and let me choose what I thought was the fattest bag.
“Heads up!” A beanbag landed at my feet, and I tossed it back to a group playing cornhole. The boards had been painted so that the target was Red’s open mouth.
Usually at kickoff I was in the press box, but today, because of the ceremony, I was at field level. At fifteen minutes to go, the stadium was packed. The teams were tucked up in their tunnels, ready to run out as soon as the ceremony concluded, and without them the field felt strangely empty. I glanced once at my watch—it should be soon.
You’re sure? came the text.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the public address announcer now. “Please rise as we honor legendary Bobcats head coach…Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed Guillory!”
The video started with clips of Red in his playing days, first at college and then briefly in the NFL. The footage was intentionally low-res to make him seem like a ghost from a beloved bygone era, a nostalgia bomb, and the crowd loved it. All calls for Red Guillory to be fired were long gone, lost to the forgotten history of last September.
But as the video played on, a funny thing happened. Instead of keeping their eyes locked on the Jumbotron, the fans started checking their phones. They leaned over the rows in front of them to peek toward the tunnel. They looked at the time. They’re bored. They’d already moved on, to Alec and Craig Washington and the new, exciting chapter that was unfolding. Red was yesterday’s hero. And it was almost kickoff.
Red’s secrets would stay with him. He wouldn’t be outed as the weak and abusive man that Abby, Chloe, and I knew him to be, but he would be forgotten. He would be left behind. And that, I realized, looking around with an amazed smile, more than anything else, would have killed him.
I’m ready, I wrote to the group chat. And five phones hit Send on five carefully crafted messages, each one containing a piece of the puzzle about A.J.’s behavior, past and present—just enough to raise some questions and pique curiosity. They would stumble their way toward each other across the Internet, picking up speed and attention like snowballs down a hillside until they met in the middle with a mighty crash that would take out an icon forever.
I looked toward the tunnel, now clogged with the team jumping in place and ready to run onto the field. Bobcats football would go on without Red. It would go on without A.J., it would go on without Asbel if he ever retired, and if I walked out of here today and never came back it would certainly go on without me.
The difference was that now I knew I would go on without it, too. There was more to me than this team, and this job, and there were things I wasn’t willing to hide anymore in order to protect them. As the team burst out of the tunnel and onto the field, the fans lowered their phones and cheered.
Acknowledgments
Sue Edson and Pete Moore at Syracuse University Athletic Communications made me fall in love with working in sports. Special thanks to Susie Mehringer, Marlene Ouderkirk, and Joyce Hergenhan, three women I admire who helped me immeasurably.
I am extremely grateful for the experiences I had working in the NFL, which were some of the most enjoyable times of my life. Pat Hanlon, Peter John-Baptiste, and Avis Roper at the New York Giants hired female PR interns when that was not a common practice and went out of their way to find opportunities for me. They set a standard in 2006 that would still be a high bar today. Thank you to Mike Eisen for always correcting my stats math. Stacey James, Jeff Cournoyer, and Casey O’Connell at the New England Patriots brought me on a PR master class through an undefeated regular season, culminating in “my” two teams facing off in the greatest Super Bowl of all time. Scott Barboza and Christy Huggins helped me recall the details, a fun and triggering walk down memory lane. Interning for the Patriots during that particular season was our Real World—a bonding experience that no one else will ever fully understand.
Thank you to the coaches, staff, and players of the 2007 Frankfurt Galaxy.
This book made its way to you because Andrea Somberg read an early draft and gently suggested that I add a plot. She’s an incredible agent—kind, professional, and so very good at what she does. Thank you to Rich Green for handling the TV/film side of things so adeptly.
Ellie Pritchett’s smart and insightful edits focused this story and made it so much stronger. I was also very touched by the amount of support she offered throughout the publication process. I’m incredibly grateful to the entire Doubleday team. Thank you to Jessica Deitcher, Kayla Steinorth, Michael Goldsmith, Nora Reichard, Soonyoung Kwon, Chris Zucker, Kristen Bearse, Maddie Partner, and Rosalie Wieder.
Thank you to Sara Herchenroether, Ashley Tate, Georgia Howard, and the 2024 debut group for being the best. My husband and agent unknowingly thank you, too, for intercepting so many freak-outs before they made their way up the ladder.
Katie Strang has been encouraging my writing since my first, terrible book twelve years ago, and to have the support of someone who does what she does at the level she does it is a gift. Hayley Levine solved many a plot hole while hiking with me, and sometimes we even remembered the details by the time we got back to the car.
I have, quite simply, the best parents in the world, and the older I get, the more I realize what a gift that is. When I told them I’d sold my book they cheered but didn’t blink, because they’d always believed I would. My sister Stephanie is my first and best friend. Steph, I enjoy being sisters with you. Nanci Staple and Mike Hadjistavrou, I love you for many reasons, but I’m particularly grateful we can share and talk about books together. My grandmother Carolyn Long is one of the most important people in my life. When she sees articles about this book, she will cut them out and save them in her Grandchild Filing System, under B for Beth.
It’s all peaks, no pits with Elliot, Annie, and Rosie. I’m so thankful for those three.
Every day is better with Arthur in it. He is the funniest, most interesting person I know, and I love him.
About the Author
Elizabeth Staple is an attorney. Prior to law school, she worked in media relations for the New York Giants, the New England Patriots, Frankfurt Galaxy, and Syracuse University Athletic Communications. She was a member of the NFL media relations staff at three Super Bowls and has also worked in events for Madison Square Garden, the PGA, and the NCAA Men’s March Madness tournament. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and three children.
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Elizabeth Staple, The Snap
